


A Man’s Character is His Fate

by DefendersofMCUniverse (GeekMom13)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Not A Happy Ending, Shiro (Voltron) Whump, Shiro's Gladiator Days, Soulmates, canon loss of limb, canon violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 21:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17857031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekMom13/pseuds/DefendersofMCUniverse
Summary: “Always be careful, Takashi. Fate isn't so forgiving. Once you've been gifted your string, that's it. You get one chance to find them. If you ruin the string or break it, my son, you will never know the happiness of your true love's embrace. Fate has decided you are ready for this, prove her right.”What’s Shiro to do when he loses his arm and his string?





	A Man’s Character is His Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Heraclitus. Suffering by yours truly.  
> In this, you are able to see and touch your string, but those around you can’t see and aren’t affected by it.

When Shiro was six, his red string appeared. Science had never quite figured out how or why it appeared. Sometimes, it was at birth, sometimes it was before birth even happened and the string led you to their family, floating around the mother until it attached to your soulmate, and sometimes it was when you met… and others, just never made sense.

He can still clearly remember when his mother sat him down then and talked with him.

_“Always be careful, Takashi. Fate isn't so forgiving. Once you've been gifted your string, that's it. You get one chance to find them. If you ruin the string or break it, my son, you will never know the happiness of your true love's embrace. Fate has decided you are ready for this, prove her right.”_

And he did, for nineteen years. Through flight school and training and all of his pain- that string was still as bright red as the day it graced his wrist.

How long it would stay that way in this place- he didn’t know.

He had attacked Matt to save him… but no one could save Shiro now.

Shiro had stopped counting after the fifteenth fight. He had earned a new translator with his victories, able to hear the crowd- though if that was actually a good thing, he hadn’t decided yet.

The main reason he liked it was his opponents didn’t have one and usually had no clue he had one. So when they would be dragged in, he would hear about each one. The opponents began to blur together, but he learned fast.

He had learned to pick out sore and weak spots fast.  

He had learned that being covered in blood earned him the best rewards- even if his opponent lived.

Though, they often begged to  _not_ live when the fight was nearing an end.

Shiro would wash off after every fight, carefully tending to the string.

It was soothing to pretend like his soulmate wouldn’t care about all the things he had done here- the blood he spilled, the countless species he studied dutifully- only instead of scientific curiosity, he was looking for destruction.

He was often put on display- dressed in fighter’s rags and barely clean from the fights. Those days his words upon meeting the Galra echoed in his mind.

_“Please, we come from a peaceful planet. We mean you no harm.”_

No harm.

Yeah.

Shiro shook it off, turning back to his string- it was starting to brown from all the wear and tear he had put it through.

He couldn’t afford the distraction. He was apparently facing a Kythran today- he had faced one before. Tall, fast, and adept at fighting with both hands. He ran his hand over the bridge of his nose, wincing at the memory. He had dropped his guard and declared victory too soon.

The Kythran had risen from behind him, wrapping the second whip-like weapon around his face and pulling him onto his back. Shiro had barely managed to right his blade for their attack to save his own life, watching them gasping for breath on top of him, Shiro’s sword still impaling them.

“Thank you.”

Shiro stared at them, rattling out their final breaths.

“I have died with honor. I will once more meet my love.”

Shiro tried to dislodge them without further disturbing their body- not that it mattered when dead competitors were just… sent out with the burnt trash as nothing more than ash. It hadn’t worked, and the sword continued to slice the poor Kythran.

That night he was given something delicious for his gruesome display.

Shiro had long ago given up on denying food for his “victories” and choked down the food.

Once, he was facing a Weblum and had been told that night they were eating his slaughter- he almost threw up. The medic had informed him that it was non-sentient, they were conquerors, not barbarians after all.

Shiro still couldn’t stomach eating more- in his experience, there was only one thing separating the two: who wrote their tales.

He had later been informed it was a baby he had fought- the adults were larger than ships.

He did throw up at that point.

Shiro spent that night calling out apologies to any deity listening, and to his family. But mostly, he held his string tight and apologized to his soulmate, wherever they were.

_Whoever they were._

Shiro had never regretted going into space before finding his soulmate more than he did that night. He had no picture of who he was- if he would forgive Shiro for this atrocity.

Shiro wasn’t sure he’d forgive it if he was on the other end of the string.

About a week after that, Shiro gathered himself up enough to make a plan. He would steal a ship and follow his soulmate home. Slowly he picked his easiest target, the timing that would be easiest too.

All he had to do was wait for his next fight and overpower one his medics. Two of them had been lenient with his restraints lately, allowing him his freedom as they fixed him up. Rarely, he was made to bear the scars from his fights- often ordered by the foreman.

The medics would flinch as they repeated the order each time. For his nose- it was to stand as a lesson. One should never turn their back on an opponent (he had only been spared keeping the one on his neck by the worries of how a scar there would affect his performance.)

The ones across his back and chest were declared symbols of his victories. He was no longer displayed with the shirt after those. The generals around him commenting on the Champion’s value as if those defeats were anything more than a needless loss of life.

He was forced to thank the foreman each time his scars were not removed.

It was a blessing at times though, because they wouldn’t send him out already injured- he was  _the Champion_ after all. He had value.

Shiro held his string as he waited to be sent back out. Nalquod today, he had been told- her name was given as Omniz.

All Shiro really heard from the description was: Aim for the neck.

This one came at him fast, both blades barely missing Shiro.

Shiro was given a shield and a small staff with what he was told was a quintessence orb this time. He had barely been taught to use it before being shoved into the arena to fend off the man who towered over him and wielded his weapons like he was born with them.

Shiro was constantly being knocked back, unable to match the hits as he kept falling to the ground, focusing everything on keeping his body shielded during the fall.

He was at his limit, stressed and close to giving up when the other warrior tripped. She looked as shocked as Shiro felt as the dust flew into the slits on her neck, choking her.

Shiro’s blast was powerful, but the aim was off- hitting her shoulder instead of her neck. She couldn’t use her right arm anymore, it was left limp at her side.

Not that the fight was any easier. She guarded the blade against Shiro, forcing him to use the staff she knew to be a new weapon for him- everyone knew the Champion favored a sword.

He raised his arm to strike and she swung her left arm against him- aiming for the unguarded arm he was attacking with. There was a blinding pain, then Shiro dropped his shield and grabbed the knife, charging at the Nalquod.

He couldn’t remember much after that until he was dripping in both their blood, trying to attach his string to his left wrist, crying as it started to fray as the arm died.

Shiro woke up in the med bay. He had been mostly washed and healed, restrained as best as they could with the missing arm.

He could hear voices and closed his eyes again.

_“Are you sure he will even be able to handle it?”_

_“The Champion is not weak.”_

_“But his kind are not quintessence-”_

_“You saw what I did. He activated the staff and used it well. The light was brighter than even the Victor before he was defeated by the Champion.”_

_“Still. I have studied him, he is fragile in many ways.”_

_“Haggar will see to it that he is no longer fragile then.”_

Shiro shuddered as the door slammed shut. Haggar was a name whispered in the cells- once a contender went to see the druid, they were never the same.

“Champion I am aware you are awake.”

Shiro opened his eyes to see one of the medics he was planning to overpower to get home. That option seemed unlikely now that he was down an arm. It probably was a terrible idea anyway- the Galra all towered over him and he wasn’t armed outside the ring.

The medic was trying to gently explain the process to him. First, he’d need to heal, then they’d find where his nerves we most adaptable and attach his new arm from there.

He wondered if they thought this would soothe his worries or if they just didn’t care.

That night, he was given a room with moderate privacy and a bed that wasn’t the awful lilac of the med bay.

They called it the Champion’s Suite.

Apparently, it would be his home from now until he was defeated.

Until he was dead.

He cried that night.

Not over the thought of death, that had stopped scaring him before he gave up counting his battles. He accepted his fate- Victory or Death. Nights like this he considered death.

Nights like this he used to hold his string and pretend his soulmate did the same.

Now, there was no string. There was nothing. Shiro had no escape route now.

Sure, he could steal a spaceship. But could he steer with one hand? Could he even find Earth? Was it even worth the effort?

_“Takashi, it is an honor to your soulmate to protect your string. You must never let it be harmed. The measure of a man’s character is in his fate.”_

Shiro sobbed out at the memory of his mother’s voice.

Every night as he was healing, he cried out to every God he could remember the name of, he pleads with Fate herself. He called out to angels.

All he wanted was his string back.

Just… let him not be alone in the world.

He took almost a month to heal. He was paraded around daily- the Champion poked and prodded as they boasted the abilities of the arm they were creating for him.

He was assigned a small Galra kit to spar with- one about his height. They informed him he had no restriction and death was allowed, but only for the kit.

He spoke briefly with them. They were just an orphaned kit, parents lost in the war. His name was Blenzar.

Shiro made sure to not injure him.

One day the medic fetched him and he woke up with a new arm. He had assumed it was just going to be another standard check-up.

No explanations, no warning- just pain.

He screamed when he woke up.

They had to strap him down and put a rod in his mouth to silence him. The medic  _calmly_ explained that the pain was necessary. That it was just his nerves rerouting to accept the new limb.

Shiro passed out from the pain fairly quickly.

The next few days were the same, wake up in pain and sweat and scream until he passed out.

Apparently, his new arm’s attachment process was going  _well._

If Shiro had the strength to punch this guy, he would have.

At a week he was finally able to hold a conversation.

“Champion, you will move back to your suite.”

He looked at the medic- one of the new ones that looked like a giant fox, not his normal medics. “Really?”

He began unbuckling Shiro’s restraints. “Yes. Your body was remarkably accepting. Perhaps we will see you for future adjustments to your body. Fix the obvious disadvantages of your species. Perhaps you might even be given the honor of joining the ranks of our forces in time.”

Shiro was glad for the pain tearing through him as he moved, preventing him from responding to exactly how much of an  _honor_ that sounded like.

When he recovered from the move, he realized the string was still gone.

He was well and truly alone in this world- no, in this _universe._

It was official, and as his mother would say- fate had spoken.

He had been weighed, measured, and found wanting.

**Author's Note:**

> Blame it on a bad hair day, Lost Toys at 3 am, a partially broken heart, and too many sick guys in my house.
> 
> Feel free to tell me who you pictured on the other end of the string! (or, as my one friend threatened, to write a fix it that takes place after with whoever you want and mark this as the inspiration so I can read it an!)
> 
> You may notice this was originally posted under a different name (Shaladicks). This was my old pseud for VLD content, but I _did not_ own the Tumblr.  
> So, with a little work, I shifted it all over to [GeekMom13](https://geekmom13.tumblr.com/), but made this new pseud under my AO3.


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